


Finders Keepers

by stargazerdaisy



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, but I promise that I make it better, lots of fluff, skyeward through the years, that black henley, watch out for the angst in the middle, you know the one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 16:38:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11582004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stargazerdaisy/pseuds/stargazerdaisy
Summary: “It’s rude to stare, Super Spy,” her voice broke through his thoughts.“It’s also rude to steal people’s clothes, Rookie,” he retorted.“I’ll make sure to let Fitz know that, the next time he tries to swipe my shorts,” she replied easily.He scowled at her evasion.  “Where did you get that shirt, Skye?”There's a certain shirt of Ward's that seems to be constantly disappearing from his wardrobe. Not that Skye would know anything about that. Laundry mix ups happen all the time. Even through new places, many years, and so much else.





	Finders Keepers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Orlissa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orlissa/gifts).



> Happy Birthday dear, darling Orlissa!!! I hope this is sufficiently fluffy and fun and brings a little smile to you for your birthday. I hope it's an amazing day for you!!!!
> 
> I have a major headcanon that Skye steals Ward's clothes and that it started on the BUS. And then it occured to me - what if he stole them back? And this went on for a long time - them stealing that one thing back and forth. Since this is Orlissa's birthday fic, I asked her to choose between two shirts (not telling her why) and she picked the black henley. So enjoy!
> 
> Thanks to Evie and Vince for their constant validation and suggestions. And Ves for letting me scream my insecurity at her, then reassuring me that it worked. Love you all!!

She stumbled into the galley, eyes half closed, seeming to search for food by touch.  Her hands fluttered and stuttered over cupboards and drawers and the fridge door, looking completely unsure, but also somehow not spilling a crumb or drop.  He watched, amused, as she carefully balanced the bowl, spoon, pastry, and a cup of coffee on the short walk over to the table.  Once she was sitting, he started noticing all the other details.  There were loose strands of hair around her face, having fallen out of the long braid down her back. She had her legs tucked under her in a way that he couldn’t imagine was comfortable in the slightest, but she was relaxed.  And the sleeves of the black henley she was wearing were covering most of her hands, only allowing her fingers to poke out.  It clearly was too big for her.  If the shirt had been on him, at least it would have hit him at the right spot on his wrists.  That reminded him, a couple of his shirts were wearing out at the cuffs.  He made a mental note to pick up a couple replacements the next time they made a supply stop.  The holes were starting to get annoying, his fingers would get caught in them when he put his arms through the sleeves….just like the hole Skye currently had her thumb sticking through on her shirt.  Suspicion growing, his focus zoomed in on the suddenly familiar looking garment.

“It’s rude to stare, Super Spy,” her voice broke through his thoughts.

“It’s also rude to steal people’s clothes, Rookie,” he retorted.

“I’ll make sure to let Fitz know that, the next time he tries to swipe my shorts,” she replied easily.

He scowled at her evasion.  “Where did you get that shirt, Skye?”

She looked down and shrugged.  “Not sure.  I picked it up somewhere.  Maybe a thrift store or a garage sale or maybe an old boyfriend.”  A smile played the corners of her mouth in response to the tension that suddenly appeared in his shoulders. 

“Or you found it in my bunk,” he admonished.

Skye gasped mockingly.  “Are you accusing me of breaking and entering into your bunk?  Just to get a shirt?  If I was going to do that, I’d at least get something more interesting.  I bet you’ve got all sorts of goodies in there.”  She stood up and took her dishes to the sink.  As she passed him, leaving the room, she threw one last comment over her shoulder.  “Now, if something got left behind or mixed up in the laundry, I can’t exactly be held responsible for that.  Hmm.  What a mystery.”

His grimace intensified and he clenched his fists.  He’d get his shirt back, even if it meant breaking into _her_ bunk.

* * * * * * *

There were loud thumps coming from the other bunk, occasionally followed by muttered curses.  It sounded almost like a tornado was building in the small space, the interval between bangs and thuds decreasing quickly.

“Um, Skye?” Jemma asked shyly, knocking on the aforementioned noisy bunk.  

The door slid open and an exasperated Skye appeared.  “Yeah Simmons?”

Simmons looked unsure and fidgeted a little.  “Um, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Skye said, trying to control her irritation.  “Why do you ask?”

“Well, you’re….um…..it’s just that….” Jemma stuttered.

“You’re making a bunch of bloody noise!” Fitz called from the other side of the cabin.  “What the devil’s got into you?”

“I’m not making _that_ much noise,” Skye groaned.  

“Yes you are!” Fitz yelled.

Skye shot him a dirty look.  “I just can’t find something.  That’s all.  I could have sworn it was in here, but it seems to have disappeared.”

“Do you want help?” Jemma brightly offered.  “What are you missing?  My mother always said I was like a bloodhound, I could find anything.”

“Thanks, Jemma,” Skye smiled.  “But I’ve got it.  It’s nothing important, it was just-”

Skye’s voice cut out and her jaw dropped as she gaped at the sight of Ward walking to his own bunk.  Ward walking to his own bunk, wearing a certain familiar black henley.  

“Skye?” Jemma followed Skye’s line of sight, turning to see Ward.  “Oh, hello Ward.”

Ward nodded at her greeting, then shifted his gaze to Skye.  “You okay there, Skye?  You look like you just got a huge shock.”  He leaned back against the wall, lounging without a care in the world.

Seeing the smirk on his face, Skye’s eyes narrowed.  “No surprises here, Agent Ward,” she hissed.  “Just realized I promised Coulson I’d assess and upgrade the BUS’s security.  I think I’ll start with the locks on the bunks.”

“That’s where you’re going to start?” Ward raised his eyebrows for show.  “I don’t know that you need to do that.  I’m sure we all trust each other and would have no reason to go into each other’s spaces.”  

Jemma looked back and forth between them, confused.  She cast a quick glance to Fitz, who simply shrugged, not having any clue about what the two of them were meaning, though there was clearly a deeper conversation going on.

“Oh, that’s exactly where I’m going to start,” she snarked.  With that, she spun on her heel and slid the door closed.  (If the bang was slightly louder than normal, Fitzsimmons may have jumped, but no one commented.)

* * * * * * *

No matter what she tried, Skye couldn't seem to shake this restless, jittery feeling.  She was a naturally curious person and normally, wandering around a brand new (well, new to her) secret underground base would fill her with delight.  But while it kept her feet busy, she wasn't actually paying attention to anything she discovered.  It felt like something was missing, but she couldn't put her finger on exactly what.

That was a lie.  She totally knew. 

There were a lot of things that were missing: Director Fury, half of SHIELD’s agents, the security she'd become used to with the agency, any sense of normalcy, just to name a few. And Ward; her SO who just-maybe-kinda-might be something more.  There wasn't a good label for what Ward was to her, or least not a single one. He was still her SO, constantly driving and pushing and teaching her to be a field agent. She'd only had her badge for a couple of days before she had to return it to Coulson, a worthless hunk of plastic and leather.  Ward was also her friend, the one who played board games, sat and watched movies, and even cooked with her - the friend she'd started relying on and opening up to.  He was also the guy whom she had kissed, more than once, which told her that the pull she felt towards him wasn't one sided. There hadn't been enough time for them to talk about anything, she couldn't call him her boyfriend, though maybe soon....

But he wasn't here. He was off escorting Garrett to The Fridge, with Agent Hand. Skye’s heart ached for Ward, thinking how betrayed and angry he must feel right now, having discovered his mentor was The Clairvoyant. Skye herself was plenty furious and mortified over it. The couple of days she'd spent around Garrett had left her liking him, even if he was a bit bombastic. He'd gone to great lengths to help the team get the GH-325 that saved her life; it was hard to not be grateful for that.  But it turns out, he was also the one who ordered Quinn to shoot her in the first place. Why would he have her shot, just to help save her life? Her mind swirled with all those questions.  It was no difficult feat to imagine Ward's own turmoil, having known, respected, and followed the man for years.  Combined with what she knew about his history, especially his family, she wished he was here. Badly.  Both for her own peace of mind and because she was sure he needed someone to talk to, and it wasn't likely he'd open up to anyone else.  

So, here she was, wandering the base in the middle of the night (though who could tell down here?), trying to find something to either keep her occupied or settle her down.  Before she was really even conscious of where she was going, she found herself in the hangar, looking up at the BUS.  It occurred to her that even though she had been assigned a room (which was definitely more spacious that her bunk), she hadn’t brought much to it.  It would probably be a good idea to have some clothes and toiletries, so she didn’t have to hike up to the BUS every time she wanted to change or shower.  The ramp was down, letting her into the plane easily.  It only took a few minutes to gather up a small bag, but as she was about to leave, she passed Ward’s bunk and the thought struck her that she could do the same for him.  It would be one less thing for him to worry about when he caught up with them.  She slid open his door - _sure, she had reinforced the security on the doors, but you think she wouldn’t build in a back door for herself?_ \- and started looking for what he might need or want.  A couple pairs of pants, some sweats for bedtime, underwear (she blushed a little at grabbing that and hoped he wouldn’t mind too much), even stuck in a book he’d been reading.  Finally, she pulled open the drawer that held his shirts.  

She hadn’t gone looking for _that_ shirt, but there it was, in all its faded but cozy, thermal glory.  A smile quirked on her lips and she quickly shoved it in the bag that held her own stuff, before finishing Ward’s bag with a couple other t-shirts.  Mission now accomplished, she felt a little better, and decided to head back to her room and see if she could sleep.  Once in there, she slipped into yoga pants and pulled the henley on as well.  It was cold here; the Canadian Rockies are never warm, after all.  As she drifted off to sleep, she couldn’t help but start to dream about what it might be like if his arms were around her, not just the shirt.  

* * * * * * *

“I still can’t believe he’s making me train,” she grumbled, entering the gym.  

“What was that?” Ward called from the other side of the room.  He could feel her scowl as much as he could see it, and well, it was pretty damn funny to him.  He tried to keep his smile in check as he walked over to her.  

“You just got back yesterday.  You have cracked ribs, a broken face, about four million cuts and bruises, and I’m pretty sure Coulson has more important things for us to do.   _Why_ are we still doing this?” she demanded, a pout on her face.

“Well, Skye,” he said, using his patented patient SO tone, with an undercurrent of amusement.  “First of all, _you_ are the one working out, I’m merely going to direct you.  However, I do appreciate your concern.  Second of all, we’re surely going to go on another mission soon, and wouldn’t it be better to be as prepared as possible?  We’re on our own now; no SHIELD strike teams on standby to swoop in if we need them.”

Skye’s frown deepened, even while resignation settled in her eyes.  “I hate it when you’re right,” she growled.

“I know,” he agreed.  Then he ducked his head down, closer to her ear and whispered,  “I can think of a few other things that would be more fun than this.”

Skye rolled her eyes, trying to look unaffected, but the pink stain on her cheeks gave her away.  “Fine, you win,” she sighed.  “What sort of inhuman torture do you have dreamed up for me today, Robot?”

“Since we can’t spar, we’ll run through some other drills and I’ll walk you through a couple moves you can practice independently.  But first - the bag,” he said, pointing to the punching bag.  

Skye groaned and pulled off the black henley she was wearing, tossing it near her other belongings.  With her hands taped properly, she started attacking the bag, following the routine Ward had set months ago.  They spent the next hour working through a variety of exercises and moves, before Ward finally said they could stop.  

“This isn’t even fair,” Skye complained.  “I’m a sweaty, soggy mess and you’re still all cool and dry and well, you.”

“You’re fine,” he assured.  “It’s the sign of a good workout.  Now I’m going to go check in with Coulson.  Why don’t you get cleaned up and come meet us in the comm room?”

“I’ll be there in a bit.” She waved him off.  “I want to do one more thing in here.”

Ward raised an eyebrow.  “You?  Going to stay in the gym after I said you could be done?  The world definitely _is_ ending now.”

“Shut up!”  She stuck her tongue out at him, making him laugh.  “You better watch it, I’m all buff now and you’re in a weak and feeble state.  Now, go away and leave me in peace.”

“As you wish,” he chuckled.  

She had already turned away and was eyeing the pull up bar, as he headed to the door.  He was passing by her pile of things when he glanced down and noticed the shirt.  Casting a quick glance at her, he saw her back was turned and she was concentrating.  In a flash, he reached down and snatched up the shirt, holding it in front of him so she couldn’t see it.   _Good luck getting a hold of it again, Rookie_ , he thought to himself.

* * * * * * *

The door slammed behind her, the sound reverberating against the cinder block walls.  Her pulse was jumping all over the place and her hands were shaking.  She hated that he did this to her, that she couldn’t stop herself from reacting, that he unsettled her to this degree.  The world as she knew it had been torn apart months ago and she had just felt like she’d found her moorings again, when Coulson ordered her down into Vault D to get information.  It would have been so much easier if she could have just pretended he no longer existed.  Coming face to face with him made it impossible for her to ignore everything that had happened.  The pitying looks and stares from the others in the first couple weeks were difficult enough.  Especially since everyone seemed to have a fundamental misunderstanding of why she was so upset.  It wasn’t hard to understand why Ward did what he did - _he was a monster after all_ \- but what she couldn’t reconcile was who she had known before Hydra revealed itself.  There was no way any of that was real.  At least, that’s what she told herself, over and over, hoping that one day it might become true.  If she didn’t have to see him, she didn’t have to be reminded of the way he looked at her or the sound of his voice when he was trying to get her to understand something.  Facing him, down in the Vault, caused all of it to come flooding back, no matter how hard she tried to keep a lock on it.

She didn’t know what to do with herself, but she felt this all-consuming need to _do something_.  A groan of frustration tore out of her throat and she looked around frantically.  Before she could think through what she was doing, she grabbed a book and threw it as hard as she could against the wall.  The thuds it made hitting the wall and then the ground felt good and she wanted more.  Suddenly, more things were flying across the room.  Books, water bottles, pens, even a ceramic mug (the shattering was oh so satisfying).  Running out of things to throw, she reached for shoes and even clothes.  Item after item sailed through the air, a pile building on the floor.  Her fingers closed around the next thing and her arm pulled back, ready to launch it.  But the sight of the black fabric caught her eye, just as her brain registered the waffle print texture under her fingertips.  Her arm faltered and the breath evaporated from her lungs in an instant.  Intense as her anger had been, it dissolved into thin air, leaving behind a gaping, visceral hole in her chest.  Every bit of energy vanished and she collapsed in a heap; gasping, heaving sobs rattling through her lungs.

She curled in on herself while the bone-crushing weight of everything came down on her.  She cried for the pain and damage done to Fitz, for the fallout that had driven Simmons away, for the seething anger Coulson now carried with him, and the ice that seemed to emanate from May.  She grieved the loss of her friend, her SO, her confidante.  She mourned the loss of her future with that illusion and the once again overwhelming feeling of not being _enough_.  A little voice inside her nagged that perhaps there were tears to be shed for Ward’s present circumstances and the anguish he might be feeling.  She squashed that down, telling it firmly to shut the hell up. There could be no sympathy for someone who could so easily betray, not just an organization he’d sworn loyalty to, but also the people who had cared so much.  He had just cast all that aside, as if they hadn’t meant anything to him.  They probably hadn’t.

So why couldn’t she let go?  Why was she still holding on to not only her memories and hopes, but also that shirt?  It wasn’t a logical choice.   There was no real defense she could come up with.  But she knew in her heart of hearts, that she couldn’t just forget what had happened, good and bad.  As nice as it would be to just pretend he never existed, he had.  He had been here and he had affected her.  The scars on her heart weren’t tangible, but the shirt was.  And until she healed, she couldn’t cast away the one last good thing she had from him.  That’s what had prompted her to sneak into his bunk and snatch it back, before May packed up all his belongings and dumped them in the incinerator.  That’s what had her hiding it in her room, refusing to let anyone know just how deep her wounds were.  She knew the only person who might have a chance of understanding was also the person who had caused them.  There would be no comfort from him (she couldn’t afford to give him even the semblance of a chance).  But if a piece of cotton cloth could give her even a shred of relief, then she wasn’t going to let it go.  

* * * * * * *

It couldn’t be said that the last seven months had flown by.  Four months imprisoned in Vault D were followed by the last three months of trying desperately to get back in the team’s good graces.  Many times a day, Ward wondered what the hell Coulson had been thinking, offering to let him earn his way back into SHIELD, not to mention what he himself had been thinking when he accepted.  There had been nothing easy about the entire experience; not that he deserved ease.  He was under no illusions about what he deserved and this was most definitely not on that list.  Nevertheless, he had been given the chance and damn if he wasn’t going to work for it, to hopefully someday make up for what he had done.  Predictably, the team hadn’t exactly welcomed him with open arms.  Reactions had differed from avoidance to scowls and harsh looks to outright hostility and suspicion.  At least the objections to his very presence, or even the mention of him, in every mission briefing and intel report had mostly died down.  They seemed to be accepting that he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon and that they had to work with him, even if many of them continued to express their displeasure at times.   

Still, things were getting better and that gave him hope.  He and Trip trained and sparred together on a regular basis, the other Specialist being one of the few who was willing to hear him out and extend an olive branch.  Hunter didn’t seem to care much about the history (not that he was a true believer in SHIELD anyway) and made cringe-worthy, inappropriate jokes all the same.  Somehow though, Ward had noticed a certain newly minted field agent had begun to snicker at the truly awful one-liners, even though she tried to hide it from everyone else.  Not every time, but often enough that it made him think maybe she wasn’t quite so angry anymore.

Which was saying something, considering just how furious she had been. The first few times she came to Vault D, she was positively seething.  He understood why, but it still was hard, both to see her in that pain, feel it directed at him, and know it was his fault.  He tried to do everything he could to ease it.  He gave all the intel she asked for, offered to tell her what he knew about her father, tried to connect with her again. For a long time, she shut him down, not willing to hear anything other than what Coulson expected her to obtain.  But at some point, she started to soften. Well, maybe not soften, but at least only sigh instead of getting up and walking out if the topic veered off course at all.  Right before the decision to release him was made, she'd started to ask a few tentative questions of her own.  However, when he was first let out of the Vault and given some freedom within the base, she had retreated.  While she didn’t go out of her way to lash out, she would turn and go the other way if she saw him coming.  She painfully avoided eye contact as much as possible.  And she would do everything she could to have someone else talk to him.  It wasn’t clear if she didn’t trust him around her without the safety of the laser barrier, or if she didn’t trust herself.  But slowly, things had settled and she no longer ran away immediately.  He made an effort to be careful around her, not seek her out or put any sort of pressure on her, but leave her be and respond kindly if they did interact.  The smile he’d thought about so much when he was stuck in the Vault, began making an appearance around him again.  It was rare, but it counted when it came.

A symbol of how much things had improved showed up a random Thursday afternoon.  Sparring with Trip had left him a sweaty mess.  One major perk of The Playground, as opposed to the BUS, was that their bunks had private bathrooms.  No more juggling clothes and towels, or risking nudity, between the bathroom and their bunks.  When he walked in, he immediately sensed something was different.  There, folded neatly on the end of his bed, was the henley.  There was only one place, one person, it could have come from.  Slowly he walked over, picking it up with gentle, reverent hands.  His fingers brushed over the soft cotton that looked just slightly more faded.  A wistful smile came to his face as he shook it loose and noticed that many of the holes had been sewn closed; by hand, it appeared. Except for those ones near the cuffs, a single gap on each sleeve.  The image of Skye with the sleeves pulled down over her wrists and hands, thumbs poking out from those holes was a welcome one.  She often complained about how cold her hands got when she was typing, but hated fingerless gloves, saying they caused too much bulk between her slender fingers.  Before he even processed what he was doing, he lifted the shirt to his face and took a deep breath. Her scent filled his nose. He hadn't realized how much he had missed it, or even that he knew what she smelled like, until right that moment.  It was a bittersweet pang in his heart. The thought that this was the closest he'd ever get to her was a hard one to swallow, but at least he had this.  He set the shirt down carefully on his bed and resolved to thank her for it later. 

As it turned out, no words were needed. When he entered the kitchen later that day, she was sitting at the table, talking something over with Simmons.  Hearing him, she looked over. Her eyebrows lifted just a little as she saw him wearing the shirt. Wanting to acknowledge it, but not interrupt her, he simply gave her a warm smile, hoping she'd read the gratitude in his eyes. It must have worked, because she grinned back with that familiar spark in her own eyes.  She turned back to Simmons without missing a beat in the conversation, but the brief moment they'd shared lit a hope in him that he hadn't felt in what felt like forever.

* * * * * * *

“What are you doing?” he whispered.  “You have to go.”

“I’m trying to find my shirt!” she hissed over her shoulder.  “I can’t exactly walk around the base topless.”

“Well….” he smirked.

“Oh my gosh, will you knock it off?!   _You’re_ the one who doesn’t want anyone to know.  Somehow I think slinking back to my bunk without a shirt on would kinda give it away.”

“Yeah, I guess,” he said dejectedly.

“You know, if you would just let us tell people that we’re together, this would be a lot easier.”

“Skye, we’ve talked about this,” he said.  “I don’t think people are ready to accept it yet.  I just barely got Simmons to stop searching for knives whenever I enter a room.  Fitz finally isn’t muttering threats under his breath.  And well, I’m never going to win over May, but Coulson no longer makes me wear a tracker when we go on missions.  But that’s sure to change if he finds out I’m deflowering you.  And that’s if he doesn’t just kill me outright.”

Skye snorted.  “Deflowering?  That’s the best you can come up with?”  Skye climbed back on the bed and started crawling towards him.  “Then again,” she purred.  “If everyone knew, I wouldn’t need to leave at all.  I could just stay here.”

He looked down at the finger tracing around his bare chest and gulped.  “You have no idea how much I wish you could.”

“Then why don’t I?” she cooed, planting a string of soft kisses up his neck.

With no small effort, he grasped her shoulders and pushed her gently back from him.  “Because if you get caught, then I get killed, and then where will we be?”

Skye stuck out her bottom lip in a pout. “Fine, you win,” she groaned.  “Which means I still need to find my shirt.”

She got back off the bed and resumed her search.  Of course, she wasn’t going to make it easy on him and made sure she angled herself just right, as she dug around on her hands and knees.  “Found it!” she called.  But as she picked up the shirt, her scowl returned.  She crumpled it into a ball and threw it at his head.

“Hey!”

“Look at what you did,” she accused.

Grant looked ather confused, then unfurled the small piece of fabric.  “Oops.”

“Oops?  That’s all you have to say?  You ripped my shirt!  I can’t wear that now!”  She walked over and swatted him on the arm, before sitting down in a huff.

“I’m sorry!  I got a little carried away….”

“A little?!  The rip is six inches long!  What am I supposed to do now?!”

“Umm….”

“You are no help,” she complained.  She glanced around the room, trying to find a solution to her predicament.  Catching sight of an answer to her needs, her eyes lit up. “Oh, perfect.”

She jumped up and practically skipped over to his dresser.  Pulling open a drawer, she rummaged through it.  “Found it!” she sing-songed.  

“No!  You can’t take that!”

“Too bad,” she retorted, her head popping through the neckline of the henley. “Should have thought about that before you ruined my shirt.”

“I’ll get it back,” he threatened. 

“Then come over here and get it,” she egged him on with a grin.

“Okay, I will.”  He started pulling back the sheets, but they just weren’t cooperating.

“Oh, whoops!  Gotta go!” she called as she slipped out the door, leaving him in a frustrated tangle of bedclothes.

Still chuckling, she hurried off to her own bunk, hopefully to get there before anyone saw her and queried her on what she was doing up so early.  Unfortunately, luck was not on her side and as she rushed around a corner, she plowed right into Coulson.

“Oof!” he grunted. 

“Oh, I’m sorry!” she rushed to apologize. 

He peered at her somewhat incredulously.  “Skye?”

“Heeeey,” she said sheepishly, trying to pull the large shirt as far down her legs as possible. The tiny workout shorts she was wearing didn't offer much coverage. (Which consequently might have been why she wore them.)

“What are you doing up?  And what are you wearing?”  He studied her top critically, then his eyes widened in recognition.  “Is that-? Why are-?”  He gaped like a fish, looking back and forth between her face and the shirt.

Her face turned bright red and she stammered, “A.C. It’s not what it looks like.”

His jaw hung open another moment before he snapped it shut and looked resolutely at her face.  “You know what?  I don’t want to know.”

“But, I swear-”

“No.” He held up his hand to stop her. “Don’t say another word.  Just…..don’t let it become a problem, okay?”

“Okay,” she squeaked.

Coulson stalked off down the hallway, muttering to himself and shaking his head.  Watching him go, Skye couldn’t help but wish for the ground to open up and swallow her whole.  Freaking Grant Ward and his absurd knack for getting her into insane situations.  She’d kill him if she didn’t like him so much, but he would definitely hear about this later.  On the other hand, if Coulson knew, then maybe they didn’t have to sneak around anymore.   _That isn’t entirely a bad thing_ , she thought, smiling to herself.

* * * * * * *

A quiet afternoon was so rare, he was going to take full advantage of it.  Stretching out on the couch, he shifted around until he was comfortable, then opened the book.  The peace and quiet hadn’t even lasted 10 minutes, when he heard a door slam upstairs and feet come quickly down the stairs.

“Graaant!” she called.

“In here!” he returned, trying valiantly to keep his focus on the words in front of him.  It was pointless though, because the moment she entered the room, his eyes were immediately drawn to her.  It happened every time, he didn’t know why he ever bothered to fight against it. There was an adorable pout on her face (though he was smarter than to say that out loud, made that mistake once and once was enough).  “What’s wrong?”

She sat down with a huff at the end of the couch, by his legs.  “Every time I think I’ve finally unpacked the last box, I find another one lurking in the shadows.  I swear they multiply every time I turn around.  How did we have this much stuff in a single bunk in The Playground?!”

“Come here,” he beckoned, setting the book down on the coffee table and opening his arms wide.

She happily draped herself on top of him, tucked between him and the back of the couch, her head nestled in the hollow of his shoulder.  He heard her hum her approval as she started drawing circles across his chest.  These were the moments he loved best.  Skye cuddled against him, the two of them being left alone in peace, where he could reflect on just how lucky he was.  Every day he found himself marveling that, despite _everything_ she had chosen to be with him.  The sparkle of the ring on her left hand caught his eye and made him smile.  It was a reminder that this was real.   In just under two months, they would be walking down the aisle, complete with white dress and tuxedo, and declaring to everyone that there was no one else, they would be together for always.  Skye’s fingers continued to dance across the top of his shirt, moving in nonsensical patterns.  They stilled for a moment, then started moving deliberately again.  She looked up at him with a wicked grin he had learned to recognize over the last couple of years.  

Her hips shifted, hands planted on either side of him, and she pushed herself up his body.  Her head ducked down and she began pressing soft, slow kisses on his neck.  A small sigh escaped him, which made Skye smirk and work her way up to his jaw.  His hands found her waist and gripped a little tighter when she lightly bit his earlobe.  She slid her fingers into his hair, combing through the thick, dark strands.  He turned into her kiss, capturing her lips.  They laid there, kissing contentedly for a few minutes before Skye moved again.  Slipping her hands under the hem of his henley, she mapped her way across his abdomen, lighting his nerves on fire.  He responded by reaching under her own shirt, pulling up and up until she sat up and pulled it the rest of the way off, tossing it behind her.  His eyes dilated and she grinned back from where she was straddling his thighs.

“Fair’s fair, babe.  You too.”  She motioned to his shirt.  

In a hurry, he sat up and whipped the offending garment off, flinging it across the room.  

All of a sudden, Skye jumped up from the couch.  In a flash, she dashed over to where his shirt had landed and scooped it up.  “HA HA!  Got it back!”

“Huh?” Ward was completely dazed and utterly confused as to what had just happened.

“Mine.  You stole it from me and now I’m taking it back.”  She gave him a smug smile and pulled the shirt over her head.

“I was doing the laundry!  The laundry _you_ asked me to do, I might add, and I found it in there.”

“Yes, and you took advantage,” she accused.

“Skye, that is literally how you got a hold of the shirt in the first place,” he deadpanned.  “Plus, how was **this** -” he gestured between them wildly “-not taking advantage?”

She winked.  “Oh Robot, that was just good _strategy_.”

* * * * * * *

“I can’t believe you’re still wearing that,” he laughed from the doorway of the bathroom.

“Hey!” she squealed indignantly, meeting his eyes in the mirror.  “It’s not like I would have outgrown it.”  Her lower lip stuck out in a pout and she crossed her arms against her chest.  

He smiled and wrapped his arms around her from behind, hands coming to rest against her stomach, the hair she had just been brushing tickled his cheek.  “That’s not what I meant.  You look gorgeous.  I meant, I can’t believe you still have it after all this time.”

Skye snuggled back against his chest and intertwined her fingers with his.  Seeing their wedding rings shining in the light next to each other still gave her a thrill, even after three years.  “I couldn't get rid of it. Plus it wasn't just me; I'm pretty sure you had it for at least half that time.”

“It is my shirt, after all.”

“Pffft, minor details. Though I wouldn't count on getting it back any time soon.”

He chuckled against her hair. “Looks better on you anyway.”

“I'm not sure if I should be happy or offended by that.”

“You're impossible sometimes, you know that, right?”

“I seem to remember being told that by a certain SO of mine.”

“Oh, May told you that?” He scratched his chin thoughtfully.  “Makes sense.”

She turned and swatted his arm. “Shut up. Like you didn't tell me that on an almost daily basis!”

“Well, it was true on a definitely daily basis!”

Skye stuck her tongue out at her husband. “Impossible enough to charm you,” she retorted. 

“That is certainly true.” His eyes took on that adoring look that gave her butterflies every time.  You'd think after so much time, that would settle down, but it never did.  She was just as smitten with him now as when they first got together.  “Does this mean we're going to have to get her a mini sized henley?” he asked, gesturing to Skye's six-months-along belly.  

Skye snorted. “If she's anything like you, probably a whole closet full. ”

“Then again, if she's like you, she'll just steal this one.”

“No way, it's mine.  I won it fair and square and I’m not giving it up.”

“I don't know that I'd call constant and repeated theft ‘fair and square’.”

“I have it now, don't I?” Her grin was entirely smug.

“Why do I even bother arguing?” he asked no one in particular. 

“I don't even know. But do you think you could argue up some ice cream? Someone is demanding it.”

He laughed and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Anything for you.”


End file.
